I ended up in the Emergency Room this past Friday, and I don't even have a good reason why.

That's obviously a partial lie. What I mean to say is I didn't get doored, or finally get into that road rage street brawl we all know is just a matter of time. That said, my Adam's apple did swell up to the size of a baseball/softball, and that's not good. Turns out, it's not "that bad" if the cause of said swelling can be located with imaging. So my PCP sent me for an ultrasound on Friday afternoon. Everyone was pretty sure that my thyroid was to blame, and thyroiditis is eminently treatable, and once you have the diagnosis . . . . all the worry really calms down. Allegedly.

The rare huge-throated Mattibird

At 2pm I head to "the big hospital" to get my ultrasound.

Time stands still in a hospital. Since every problem must be dealt with scientifically and methodically, the only interjections of time are when people are rushed in, when others are rushed to surgery, and the chilling starter's pistol of a patient coding. With life and death so brazenly on display, it's difficult to parse the dramatic change in pacing from the gut punch of watching a person's worst moment fly right past you down the hall.